Undead Nightmares 2
by LittleHoneyDew
Summary: Dutch, Arthur and the gang have been striving since coming to Horseshoe Overlook. They believe the worst is behind them, until a green moon rises and an unknown sickness spreads across the west, leading the dead to awake.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone!**

**Thank you for stopping by to read this or unless you accidentally clicked on this, that's alright too. So I've always loved the first Undead Nightmares and really hope to see a second one. I remember one day talking to my friends that I thought it would be incredibly hot to see Arthur, Dutch and John fight zombies...topless, and they gave me a look like why are we friends with you and that same night I had dream about zombies and I knew that was a sign to write this. Or just a crazy coincidence...that makes sense too!**

**Anyways, some details, this starts at the beginning of the game when the gang is at Horseshoe Overlook and yet things have been going more smoother than originally and everyone in the gang is pretty chipper! I'm not a great writer, so apologies ahead of time, but I hope you guys can find something you enjoy about it. Please review, follow, favorite, or what have you if you like! Thank you for all the support! **

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No one could forgive Micah for killing Sean or whatever Sean had become. The wound was too deep.

The night it happened would forever haunt Arthur and the rest, because that was the night it happened. The moon was low and piercing down on him as he rode back to Horseshoe Overlook since a day of errands. He weary with his bed occupying on his mind. But the camp was awake and full of energy, something he thought they had lost.

Everyone had assembled around the fire, singing while Javier's fingers flickered the strings of his guitar. Molly had summoned enough strength to sit near the other girls or they had summoned enough strength to handle her superiority. In Abigail's arm, Jack was fighting the urge to sleep, while her head rested on John's shoulder. Even Swanson was content.

But the song stopped as Arthur drew closer.

"Ah, Arthur, my dear boy, come join us," invited Dutch as he offered the seat next to him and passed him a bottle of whiskey.

"So, what is it we're celebrating exactly?" inquired Arthur as he sat down and run his eyes over the gang.

"Why freedom, my friend! We are alive and well," Dutch boost with a sly grin.

Beer bottles roused into the air and 'ayes' echoed in the air.

"How did you get on with Mr. Downes, Herr Morgan?" Strauss asked. He looked different without a book so commonly in hand. But those beady, deceiving eyes peering above the rim of his glasses assured Arthur it was him.

"Sorry, Strauss, didn't get to him today," admitted Morgan and pressed the bottle to his lips.

"We owed him a great deal of money, he reminded.

"As you've told me before," the man conceded with a sigh.

"Now, now gentlemen," interjected Dutch as he roused to his feet. He balanced his stare between each section around the fire. "Listen to me, all of you. I cannot express how proud I am of each and everyone of you. It's been a rough few months. We have lost a great deal, but it has been through the effort of each one of you we have survived. We are still together."

Micah clearing his throat attracted the glare of several members. "Here, here boss."

And while they all rolled their eyes to him, they concurred.

"Thank you, Micah," he continued. "Thank you, all of you, for making us home again."

To that, they all drank and kept the night alive with songs and stories to reminisce over. Within that time, they had forgotten what had been, all they had lost and feared little for the future. Pinkertons were searching in all the wrong places. O'Driscolls were engaged in other matters. And those cash bonds held freedom.

The confidence of Dutch spread across the gang, leaving Karen the only one distraught. She often peered to the entrance of the camp and when her eyes returned so did her dismay.

"You alright, Karen?" Arthur asked.

Her inhale was short and irritation slipped into her tone. "Fine….You seen Sean by chance?"

Arthur gazed around camp as he realized the absences of Sean. It was difficult to believe, seeing as Sean was often at his ear the moment he could.

Steadily, Arthur shook his head. "No I haven't. I wouldn't worry though, Sean can handle himself fine."

Morgan's eyes fell to the ground with instant regret. Even Dutch couldn't convince them with that lie.

"Well, Karen, isn't that Sean over there?" Tilly announced as she scrambled to her feet with Karen following the same action. She hauled pass everyone who had sprung to their feet with a flush in her cheeks.

Sean came tumbling in by the west side, with moonlight reflecting off of him. His vest and pants were frayed at the ends and his coat was tattered. His hair was coarse and tangled. Yet it was his skin, that left wonder and Karen come to a halt. It was transparent and blue like he just climbed out of his own grave.

Even the horses were recoiling as he limped pass them.

"Boy probably just came from the saloon," Susan grumbled and sipped at her coffee.

"Maybe so, Miss Grimshaw." Arthur retrieved Karen and passed her to Susan with eyes drifting from Dutch and Sean. "Maybe so. Will you keep the woman here though? We best see what's wrong with him."

Susan didn't take a moment to accept.

Dutch was first to approach, calling out to Sean who neglected to respond. John and Arthur trailed behind, and Javier with Charles behind them. After arming themselves, Bill and Micah followed.

"He seems different….like somethings wrong," observed John.

"Sure doesn't seem like him," Arthur agreed.

"Sean, my boy, what has happened to you?" inquired Dutch as he stopped several feet away from Sean.

Yet there was no reply, no words at all, but instead a cry erupting deep from within his throat. Blood spewed out with his saliva. He shuffled closer with arms swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Dutch recoiled.

"Is this the lumbago you're always talking about, old man!" seethed Micah to Uncle with a long laugh that made Sean groan.

Dutch's hand roused. "Sean, what have you done?"

Now, there was nothing but silence.

"I heard in Valentine there was a cholera outbreak in Armadillo," Bill mentioned with his knuckles turning white as his hands tightened on his rifle.

"What the hell would Sean be doing in New Austin?" sneered John. "And put your gun away!"

"Well I don't know, John!" he retorted and waved his gun carelessly. "What about tuberculosis?"

Arthur drew in a short breath. "Bill, you're an idiot."

"Enough!" The only noise was Dutch's voice echoing in the air now. He strode forth and begun again. "I am not going to ask you again, Sean. Come here, son."

Sean obeyed.

He released another shrilling cry that pierced their ears and scuttled towards them with arms stretched out. Those once beige teeth were exposed with blood slithering down them, and turning to crust on his chins. That rustic taste was his fuel. The beam once in his eyes was lost, replaced by a relentless void.

Lined in Sean's range of attack, but lost to the sight of him, Dutch stood there lifelessly. And as he acknowledged what was happening, he was out of time. His fingers trembled for his gun's handle, yet there nothing but air he clutched at. Glancing up, there he was. Sean's mouth wide open, ready to devour the taste of Dutch's flesh.

He closed his eyes, eased his body and accepted his faith as an unseen force brought him to the ground. A single shot hummed in his ears and as he finally opened his eyes, there Sean's body lolled to his side.

"Micah, you stupid fool!" Arthur growled while assisting Dutch to his feet. Micah's self - satisfied smile piercing back at him made his insides sting.

"What the hell was I supposed to do, Morgan! He was coming for Dutch and us!" protest Micah.

"We could have lassoed him! We could have….He didn't have to die damn it!" Arthur begun to pace with thoughts building within his mind. "Something just isn't right about this."

Charles had emerged from within all the action and took to Sean's side. His fingers swept down his body, noting the details of his skin. "He was a corpse…."

"You don't say red - skin," Micah chortled.

"No, his color and the coolness of his skin….He was dead before you killed him."


	2. Chapter 2

The infected - that's what Charles had called them, so Arthur did the same. Wandering through the forest, as he tracked Sean's previous route, that's all Arthur could think of. Several more had entered into camp that night, several more after Sean was buried and Dutch sent them out to investigate soon after. They weren't like what they had previously fought. They were men with the minds of rabid animals - hostile and callous toward the lives of others.

Charles steps halted and produced his binoculars from his satchel.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Deer, strange she's all alone," he observed while passing him the binoculars.

Looking through a beige doe shifting her head back and forth came into view.

"Ah yeah," Arthur said.

"I wouldn't be surprised if whatever is happening is affecting the animals too," Charles sighed, with his tone plunging.

Arthur lowered the binocular and eyes peered to his companion. There was a hint of dismay in him that he was trying to constrict. It made his mind trail back to when they hunted bison together, only to find trophy hunters doing the same.

"Nah, animals are smarter. They're survive longer than we will," he assured, "in whatever hell mess this is. Rabies, you think?"

"No." Charles shook his head.

Arthur looked back into the binocular, excepting to see the doe still there and yet she wasn't. Not completely. Four, possibly five of the infected had crept from where they hid, approaching the deer like Sean had approached Dutch that night. Teeth were stained and out while piercing through the deer, as they all assembled around and devoured her.

"Jesus!" cried Arthur and handed Charles the binocular.

"Come on. I don't want to be out here any longer," he insist with another shake of the head.

They turned their back to the scene but it lingered in their minds. It haunted and interested Arthur at the sametime, forcing him to peer back. And there only a few feet behind were the infected, trailing behind them. Calling Charles, he produced his rifle and looked to his companion.

Charles' precision with the bow brought three down, quietly, while Arthur took the other two with shots that echoed through the forest. "How did they know we were here….I could barely see them with the binoculars."

"Smell. They sense us by smell," breathed Charles overlooking the five corpses that rested in front of them, with crimson red oozing from them. The odor of them was more powerful than the scent of gunpowder just released.

A dim groan drifted in the air.

Charles' steps resumed with more speed in them than usual. "Hurry. We can't stay here."

"What happened here?" inquired Arthur as he and Charles appeared from the woods.

Infected were building up on the outskirts of the camp and Lenny was contributing another one to the pile. Everyone was armed, unspoken and eyes wide on the woods.

"Those things, those thing that got Sean or what Sean was just sauntered in here," Dutch replied while inhaling the bitter taste of a cigar. "One almost bit poor Mary - Beth. The shooting attracted the rest."

Arthur released a heavy sigh as he strode to the table in front of Dutch's camp sight, eyeing the map stretched over it like a tablecloth. He was greeted by Hosea who was seated across from him and John by his side. The color had drained from their faces and their skin creased beneath their eyes.

"Poor kid can't even sleep from what he saw," John murmured while shaking his head.

"Can you blame him?" groused Hosea. "I don't think any of us have. We should move somewhere safer, Dutch."

Dutch steadily nodded and took another puff. "Yes….yes, we need a place with structure. We can't be wide open like this. Arthur, Charles, what did you find out there?"

Both men exchanged fleeting stares, silently fighting who would talk first.

"Nothing good," started Charles. "These things are quick and vicious. Worse that we've ever encountered. And it's not just us they're targeting. It's the animals too. They took down a deer in minutes."

Arthur's posture sank at the memory, while Charles shook his head before continuing. "They sense us by sight, but smell as well and they're attracted to the uninfected. I can only imagine what it's like in town."

"Probably overrun if that's the case," Hosea said as he overlooked the map lolling in front of him. His fingers traced a route from Horseshoe Overlook and up north, pass Valentine and through Cumberland Forest. Then he stopped. "It might be our only chance."

"Fort Wallace," announced Arthur.

"That's a long way away with everything out there," John interjected. "It will take days to get all of us."

"Well then why don't we all just stay and get here eaten," taunted Micah who had grown closer.

Even in jeopardy his obnoxious attitude persisted.

Hosea shook his head and though a part of him agreed with John, he held to his plan. "We have to John, if we want to survive. Fort Wallace is a well guarded fort that's difficult to get into."

"And the lawmen that are inside it?" he queried with a rising tone.

"Who can say they even stayed," remarked Dutch.

Silence interrupted them, until Arthur broke through and came to his feet. "Well, that's that then. We should start packing up and leave tomorrow morning."

Dutch nodded and discarded his cigar. His eyes ran over the camp, searching for Miss Grimshaw to get started. Instead he saw Pearson waddling towards them, rushing into speech.

"We got a problem gentlemen," he said between pants. "A real problem."

"Breath, son," instructed Dutch while placing a hand upon his shoulder. "Surely there isn't a problem bigger than what we're already facing."

Pearson inhaled a large breath. He seemed tickled by the amount of attention on him. "Well since those things no one wants to leave camp, because of those things... no ones gone to Valentine for supplies and on ones gone hunting and we're running low on food."

"Of course it's all about the food, fat man," Micah mocked. "Why don't we just eat you, we're have leftovers for weeks."

"Enough, Micah!" scolded Arthur.

"Arthur, you and I will go into Valentine and collect all the supplies we can before we head to Fort Wallace," Dutch said after a moment of hesitation.

He looked towards Hosea who opposed as soon as he could. "There will be hundreds of those things in town. You'll need more than the two of you."

"I'll come," offered Charles and John followed.

"Maybe Lenny and Javier will come too," recommended Arthur who was apprehensive himself at the idea.

"Good! Now the rest of you, stay here. No one leaves this camp until we get back," directed Dutch with a nod gestured towards Hosea.

The six of them mounted their horses, and left Horseshoe Overlook with quick goodbyes. But as they rode they succumbed to quietness fear evoked. Arthur, John, Javier and Dutch were skilled with the gun, while Charles' reflects and senses were quick. Lenny was both in lesser ways. Maybe if Bill or even Micah had joined there would be relief. Within every quest, an ounce of fear accompanied Arthur, but nothing like this. Now the thought of yielding was tempting.

Valentine finally emerged, from a bleak orange dot into a town cast into fire and screams as they grew closer.

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**Hello my pickles!**

**Thank you those who followed, favorited and even reviewed - you have the patience of a saint and possibly low standards! It was painful to see someone also write an Undead 2 story and get triple the amount of attention, but it's okay I'm handling it...with drinking, and hysterically crying and obsessive cat adoption but I'm getting through it...I'm getting through it...*Awkward laughter*... (Please don't take anything I say seriously)**

**Anyways, review, follow, favorite, do whatever tickles your pickle and only do drugs if pressured! Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur's eyes opened and saw a familiar anger reflecting back at him. In those eyes piercing through him there was something more though. There was an incensed passion, a selfish need that couldn't be express and yet at the sametime there was nothing. The infected - once a woman in marred, prim clothing - pounced upon him, making him recoil and both tumble over the abandon crate he had used for cover. On top of him, her teeth snarled and chattered at him. Saliva glided down the corner of her lips, dropping down on his face.

He fought for a brief period, only to face an unforeseen and unnatural strength.

And then there was nothing except gunshots and a timid whimper echoing in his ears. She collapsed to his side, while Lenny skid to his other and aided him back to his feet.

"Lenny, Arthur come on!" a familiar voice called that drowning under consistent groaning and moans advancing closer.

Arthur's stare balanced between the coming herd of infected, trampling over their fallen companions and the sheriff's office where Javier was springing onto the jail cell's roof. John was shooting at an infected that was was creeping from the north side. Two bullets tore through its chest. He seemed proud only to realize there was no effect.

"Shoot the head, John!" called Javier from above while offering Charles a hand.

"Never mind that, son." Dutch released a single bullet from his revolver, sailing straight through the infected's head. He hauled John into Javier's dangling hand. "John, get up there! Arthur come on!"

Arthur walked lamely towards with Lenny covering him.

"You alright?" inquired Dutch.

"Just my leg. I'll be fine. Come on, you get up there," assured Arthur and gave him a hoist. The ache in his leg matured, making it unable to stop from wincing. "Lenny, get over here."

Lenny steadily shook his head that was peering over his shoulder every few seconds. "No, you go, Arthur."

Arthur's hand roused to stop him, but Lenny was persisted.

He liked that about him, he liked the kid all in all. Time like now though they didn't need the delay from a preserved attitude.

"You go first, you're injured!" he pressed.

Arthur grumbled while taking Dutch's grasp and sighing, "Alright."

He turned around upon reaching the roof of the cells. Lenny lingered down below, shooting with a trembling hand below the stock of his rifle that jeopardized his aim. The infected were growing closer, and by the time Lenny finally reached out for Arthur, they were rushing towards him with arms out.

Arthur lifted him a few inches off the ground, only to be lugged down by the tight grasp of an infected. His rifle fell from his clutch by the sudden pull, evoking his legs to clash around until the hand withdrew. There Lenny was dangling from Arthur's hand while the other searched for his revolver, only to meet crimping fingers reaching out for him.

"John!" called Morgan. "Come on, help me get Lenny up!"

Disregarding his targets from the east way, John scrambled to the edge. His arms wrapped around Lenny's shoulder, while attempting to heave him up.

"Please," quavered the kid and kicked another infected. "Please, don't let me die!"

"You ain't going to die, kid!" Arthur assured and glanced towards John. "Marston, damn it, pull!"

A unison roar broke through, as both towed the man higher and seized him from the infected. They stumbled back as Lenny's legs scrambled onto the roof. He collapsed onto his back, inhaling the stench corrupted air. The burning buildings from the south were dimming, but the sent of scorched wood and melting paint was pungent. And the infected, their aroma was poison to the lung. But Lenny breathed it all in, with a hand upon his chest, felling the rise and the drop just to assure himself he was alive.

"Thank you….Arthur and John," he gurgled.

Waving him off, Arthur sprung to his feet and reclaimed his rifle. "Relax, kid...just let yourself rest. You did good."

He obeyed without much of a struggle and he rested until the gray in the sky dimmed to night. Javier had fired the last shot - the last bit of ammo any of them had - and the last infected fall upon the pile below. One final moan and it was all over.

Though weary, Dutch's back slide against the roof's panels with eyes wide on nothing.

"What...uh...what we do, Dutch?" inquired Arthur as he overlooked the carnage.

His mind fell back to when they first arrived. There was a deceptive hope. The train station and the stables were steadily burning. Outskirt homes were deserted and vandalized. Wagons were overturned. Lifeless. The only thing left in that town was an eerie tranquility, that was quickly replaced as they reached the main road. That's where they waited.

Now they laid in that same spot.

The bodies of infected stretched down the main road, while a few scattered down the south entrance by the cut - rate saloon. Several more rested at the north.

"We came here for supplies," reminded Dutch as he roused to his feet and holstered his revolver. "Now sons, we get what we need from the merchant and we get ammo. Lot of it."

"We should get medicine too," advised Charles.

"Yes, medicine as well. If you would be so kind as to collect the horses, Mr. Smith." Though the oldest of all of them, Dutch took the lead and sprung from the roof first. Javier followed behind with that consistent loyalty and Charles tried to help Lenny, only to be shoved away. When Arthur reached the ground, he could hear Dutch's words drifting from the corner. "Follow me boys."

"You alright, Morgan?" John asked, noting the progressive hobbling from his companion.

"Just hurt my leg when that thing almost got me." Silence came as they continued pass stores, until reaching the main saloon. "You alright, Lenny?"

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Though he suspected Lenny's bitterness came as a veil for his humiliation, Arthur didn't press. Dutch was already shooting the lock of the general store door and flashing a pleased grin once it opened.

"Take all you can gentlemen," he directed as he took to the produce or what hadn't spread across the floor. John and Arthur managed the can goods, crowding their satchels til they were fit to burst. Charles was still collecting the mares when they reached the doctor's office. Nothing remained but a few bottles. It was upon reaching the gun shop he joined them, with a growing inpatients. Night was creeping in like a thief, stealing valuable time and light to illuminate the road back home. They couldn't risk anymore delay, never realizing one was already outside waiting.

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**Hello my lovely readers!**

**I can't express how thankful I am for all the follows and favorites and amazing reviews! You guys are so damn perfect! I hope this chapter was good...maybe mediocre at best! This one was tougher than I thought it was going to be so I might come back to fix it, bury it, burn it, something along those lines. Also I've come to find Dutch a difficult character to write, he's so charismatic and I once was doing a presentation in middle school about religion and fasting and accidentally said fisting. You see my problem?**

**Anyways guys, until next time! Review, follow or favorite if you like or don't! I ain't your boss! Just remember you guys are awesome. **


	4. Chapter 4

An unknown light pierced through the windows of the Valentine gun store. Orange and brown shadows wavered on the walls and an acrid scent seeped in their nose. While he wouldn't admit it, Arthur was weary and aggravated, enough to make him detest investigating. But one by one the men drew out from the shop and onto to the streets, inclining him to follow.

Stepping out an unexpected heat hit him and ash rained on him, while growing screeches surrounded him.

"The church," crocked Lenny with a trembling finger, "it's on fire."

The white building, once a place of peace, was being swallowed by orange and black. Fire outlined the once structure, while the wood holding it together crackled. Time had merely passed and the church had already succumbed to the flames, slowly losing its existence. Through the ash and the fluorescent colors that impair their view, three figures stood.

Physically they had survived the infected. Mentally they were beyond repair.

Approaching - Dutch taking the lead, with Arthur close to his side - they were met with a shrilling scream and a rifle sweeping over their chests.

The man was a farmer, or so his frayed overalls and coarse hands told. Though he didn't share the sun kissed tan most acquired. He was pale. Pale, with his face creased and sinking and his eyes a relentless, black void. He hadn't grieved like the woman collapsed at his side, who was screeching and embracing her knees while she tremble, but Arthur noted the tear stains he tried to hide.

"The hell you want? You one of them?" he ranted and thrust the rifle farther out. "You better damn tell me or I'll make this hell worse for all of you."

"Do we look like them?" retorted John, whose hand was slithering towards his holster.

"John," Dutch scolded. Peering back to the survivors, his hands roused to shoulder level and collected himself to produce his renown charisma. "Sir, ma'am….miss, you have no reason to fear us. We are just like the three of you. We're survivors. That's all we are. Survivors, who have lost and are seeking answers, so we don't have to loss anymore."

The rifle begun to lower and the farmer's eyes looked back to the church.

"You want answers?" he murmured and gave a rapid kick to the woman at his side, forcing her to look up. "Tell them, Prudence, you've always had answers from that damn book."

Strains of white hair tickled at her face, shading her swollen eyes.

"Our God….oh our God, he has abandoned us," she cried, these passionate, rage - full cries. "We were good souls. Oh my son, oh I warned him, don't court that Jewish girl! He stopped going to church, oh she seduced him, that damn jezebel….His grandfather came from the grave and ate him! Oh, out of shame, and then he ate her!"

Dutch's curiosity was more than the fear from a gun aimed at him. He stepped forth, with narrowed eyes and a lower tone. "Pardon me?"

Her weeping altered into demented laughter, yet her hollow expression never faltered.

Dutch withdrew as the farmer resumed his aim.

"She's gone. Insane. I knew I should have married her sister," he lowly chortled. "She always pushed the Lord on everyone, promising raptures and paradises. Where is it, Prudence? Is this our paradise? Our heaven? Oh yes, I see the bright lights right over there!"

The third survivor, a young girl - eighteen at the most, Arthur assumed - came to the woman's side. She shared the broad shape of Karen, yet speaking, she was as smooth and gentle as Mary - Beth.

"Oh, Papa, please stop….Please don't make Mama cry anymore," she whispered, while squeezing the woman's shoulders.

"What did she mean before?" inquired Arthur. "About your grandfather eating your brother?"

Feeling her father's glare upon her, the girl hesitated to speak.

"God, he got angry. I told all the woman, don't wear short skirts. Don't wear quarter sleeves, that's what Harriet wore, that damn Jewish whore! She took my son, oh my dear son," Prudence blubbered. "I tried to warn them. But the drunks, the prostitutes…."

She caught the men's wandering eyes. "...the outlaws….criminals, Mexicans…."

Javier's expression twisted as Lenny consoled him.

"They did this. They made God angry," spilled Prudence and peeked to her daughter. "Abra, Henry was a good boy. I raised him right. I raised him as a child of God and he's dead….Oh, why! Why did he wake the dead and leave? Why did the Lord forsake us?"

Arthur exchanged quick glances between John, Charles and Lenny, never heeding Dutch's impatiences growing.

"What do you mean….he woke the dead?" he recited, losing his calm tone.

Arthur would not forget how montone the words of the farmer were. The statement was demented and impossible and yet he spoke it as if he was providing a lecture on proper farm tools. "The dead awoke. They came from out of their graves and they started eating us. And when they were done, their victims came back as one of them. It's a scary sickness. Doctor said there's no cure, well before he got eaten by our pastor."

"A man just as sinful as the rest!" sobbed Prudence.

"Only way to stop it, is to kill them," continued the man. His voice was so blank, so dead.

John strode closer as he grew tired of story time. They were all fretful from what they had conquered and by the idea of traveling home, but Marston was the only one daring enough to interject. "Well I've heard some weird stories in my day, but none such as that sir."

Abra scrambled from her mother's side. "My father isn't a liar, misters. We all saw the buried break through their graves. Some of the kindest souls came back and started eating others. Go look yourself at the graves!"

By Dutch's command, Arthur and Charles followed the point of Abra's finger which lead them up a pathed hill, just feet away from the ignited church. Headstones stretch across the barren area. Some were fresh and some were steadily deteriorating leaving green burgeoned on the store and faded names and dates. Yet they all shared a similar layout. The layers of dirt that once rest upon their coffins were piling at the side, along with torn patches of grass. And down below, splinters from the wood coffins pierced out like needles.

From behind, Arthur could still hear Prudence prattling and her husband chiding.

"They're alive," he heard him say, "they're alive and angry."

The words haunted both men upon returning. Alive and angry. Angry was too generous of a word. They were unmindful animals, shaped like human to deceive the living, until they were pouncing upon them and tear through their limbs. Bellicose and malicious, making each day more vulnerable than the last.

"...snake oil man." The farmer's words drifted into Arthur's ears as they reached the others.

"And where does this 'snake oil' man reside?" inquired Dutch.

"North of here. By the riverside usually. Sold a lot of poison," he recalled with a shake of the head.

"Papa, what about that ill foreigner who was talking about gibberish?" asked Abra, feebly. "The one who talked about creating a new kind of human? Perhaps…."

The farmer released a heavy sigh and a dark glare that balanced between the six men, before stopping at Dutch. "Lunatic. Crazy man from godless lands over sea, who passes through here sometimes."

"He's got a laboratory….I think that's what he called it. A place of science, to study, at Dover Hill," enthused the girl, whose color drained from her face upon meeting her father's stare.

"Science," repeated Prudence. "That's how this happened. We had all the answered, God gave us them, but they kept pressing and pressing, thinking those answers weren't good enough. Now we're doomed."

Arthur took Dutch's shoulder and heaved him back onto the road. The rest followed behind, with the occasionally glance back to the survivors.

"They're right," Charles assured. "The graves are ripped apart."

"They have them interesting theories on why," said Dutch. "Apparently an aspiring businessman, selling over priced tonics and ideas of everlasting life was here a week ago."

Arthur's brow slightly roused. "So, are we going to investigate?"

"What about the others then?" Lenny said with a rattling tone.

"No, no," Dutch protest and soothed Lenny's nerves. "We go back, get the rest and settle in Fort Wallace. That's what we need to focus on right now."

"Well what about them?" asked the kid with a gesture towards the family, who were still progressing in their quarrel. "We can't leave them."

"They're crazy," murmured Arthur.

"That they are," agreed Javier.

"Like you said Dutch, they're survivors, just like us," Lenny pressed.

Dutch grew quiet with ponder and that evoked an unwanted fear in Arthur. He could think, but he had a history of thinking too much and without the sensible advice of Hosea, bad things followed. So when he finally opened his mouth, Arthur mentally sighed and prepared himself. It was not them he addressed though.

"Ma'am, sir," he called and caught the eyes of the farmer and his daughter. Prudence was still saturating the ground with falling tears and imploring God to forgive her unknown sins. "Come with us, to Fort Wallace."

The farmer abandoned that vacant tone. Now he was laughing, a roaring laughter that belonged to a much older man with a stretched out stomach. "Think we would follow you, Mr. Van der Linde. You boys got your faces postered all over Blackwater when I visited there two weeks ago."

Dutch's eyes widened. "What my boys and I were doesn't matter now. We're survivors. If you do not come with, you will not see another week."

"There's no surviving, Van der Linde," he retorted. "This is hell. There's no escaping. That's where we are. We're in hell, Mr. Van der Linde."

* * *

**Hello everyone!**

**I'm sorry for my delay on updating. College is rough, I'm moving into a new place, I went on vacation with a friend, who also brought a friend with three kids (God grant me serenity...), I was abducted by aliens, I was part of a sacrifice, my brother's friend's uncle's dog's owner's sister got sick, oh it's been crazy I tell ya! Now with things settling down I can start being more consistent with updates - which someone asked for in a review, which I thought was the fucken sweetest thing! You guys are all so sweet!**

**Anyways, today's my birthday, so if you want to give me a gift of following or favoriting or reviewing, go right ahead. Did I post today because it's my birthday and telling you guys might make you more incline to do so? Well, no, of course not...*Awkward laugh* Honestly do whatever tickles your pickle! Thank you for all my previous readers, you guys are the cat's pajamas! Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

This was hell indeed.

Swanson wouldn't agree, then again he hadn't ventured farther than the camp and was occupied with a syringe in his hand whenever Arthur spoke to him. It was cheap, fleet conversation, and the only kind he could find. The rest of the gang had grown timid as they expelled the last few items onto the wagons, save Micah. His behavior was sullying. He had a morbid enjoyment in the misery enclosing in on them and provoked it whenever the chance showed. Most ignored, the there was Karen.

Grief had led her astray from her usual indifferent attitude. Like Swanson took to the morphine, Karen took to the bottle. She was vulnerable and Micah saw it as a toy to play with. Arthur didn't know what comment commenced the quarrel - no one did - but they remember the dismay that darkened her eyes and evoked her cries.

"What's the matter, huh? Crying over Sean again?" provoked Micah with an eerie laughter.

Tilly and Mary Beth took to both of Karen's shoulders in attempt to control her. She was wrestling from their clutches, waving a hand occupied with a bottle of whiskey towards him. "You bastard! You sick bastard….You killed him! Murderer! Murderer!"

His chortles persisted. "I thought all that booze would just loosen you up. Not make you more stupid."

"I'll kill you, Micah," she whispered, "I'll kill you just like you did to him."

Miss Grimshaw shooed Tilly and Mary Beth as she wrapped her arm around Karen. She was gentle, she always was when she needed to be, and yet stern at the same time. "Come now, Ms. Jones, don't listen to him."

Karen fought for a moment as Miss Grimshaw's embrace tightened and her words firmed. "Ms. Jones!"

"What'd she ever do to you?" Javier grumbled before John could stop him.

Micah's glare came from a feeble man and yet it was terrifying. He was unstable and therefore unpredictable. "You know, greaser, they may not have manners in your country, but here, we thank those who protect us from getting eaten."

Silence and glares stood between them, until Javier produce his knife, grabbed Micah's arm and twisted it behind his neck. The blade illuminated in what little sun showed as it grew closer to the man's throat. Javier leaned into his ear, taunting him with the short breathes he took, before whispering, "I have enough manners to not kill you. Don't make me change my mind."

"Javier."

Dutch's voice cast over the camp, drawing all eyes upon him. He often made speeches at the entrance of his tent, presenting himself as prim and proper as he could in his black trench coat, bower hat and the chain of a golden pocket watch hung to his side. Now he was approaching them with creases in his undershirt and his black tressels untamed.

"Javier, let him go," he commanded with a cool glare. He didn't speak until Javier obeyed. "Listen to me, all of you, listen. These last few days have been rough, there's no denying that. Without Sean here….I don't even like to think of it. If I could take his place I would in a heartbeat. But I cannot undo what has happened. All I can do is make sure we don't lose anyone else.

"Now out there, out there is an evil. Something we can't explain. It's a hell we'll be facing, something I wish we weren't. But we will survive, if we stay together. We cannot let that hell creep in and tear our family apart and divide us! Now, Miss Grimshaw, are we ready to leave?"

* * *

That pissing rain stretched out miles a head once they left Horseshoe Overlook and continued pass Valentine. The silent ride gave Arthur nothing to do but ponder the irony. It was late May, with summer on the horizon and yet he could not recall a hazy day or a warm tranquil night. There was only colorless, cool wasteland. A ghostly fog blanketed their path. Decaying trees bordered the road that had altered into sludge from past and present rain. This was hell, but not what the world preached it would be. It made Arthur miss the idea of flames crawling up his body and lakes of fire.

On occasion he peered to Lenny, who rode behind the wagon train with him and Bill and Javier just a few feet ahead. John kept close to the wagon sheltering Abigail and Jack. Beyond that Charles, Lenny and Micah. Leading them all was Dutch and Hosea who even had reserved from reminiscing and planning. No stories were told, no talk of the old days and no songs sung, just a bitter silent that intensified the fear in all of them. Every branch crack, every bird whistle, even Uncle snoring, they were peering around and equipping their guns.

It took reaching the outside of Valentine for someone to make a noise. A shriek broke through the tense silence, followed by the rattling of metal items clashing against each other, that strangely solaced Arthur while alerted the others.

"What happened?" he asked while approaching.

Miss Grimshaw scrambled up from a puddle of mud that embraced her, clinging to her hair and down to her skirt. Arthur couldn't recall a time he saw fright so obvious on her.

"Wheel's stuck in a ditch," announced Hosea as he overlooked the stagecoach. The driver's wheel, front left of the wagon, was steadily sinking into oozing sludge, leaving the rest of the wagon uneven. "Poor Susan came falling down with it."

"You alright, Miss Grimshaw?" he asked as he balanced his stare between the wagon and her.

Approaching Grimshaw when enraged was advised against. But Dutch's gratitude and compassion for the woman seemed to outweigh the common practice. He wrapped her into his coat and ushered her from the road through her curses.

"I told them to fix that damn wagon wheel," she murmured.

"I don't know if fixing it would have prevented this, Susan. But we'll get it out and get back on our way," assured Morgan.

"That we will," Dutch agreed. "Now, Susan, go clean yourself up. Ask Pearson to come this way if you pass him."

"And stay close!" called Arthur as she wandered away, only to wave him off.

Hosea directed the first men he saw into position, with Arthur, John and Bill heaving from behind. Javier, Charles and Micah's feet drown in the mud as they pushed from the side. Lenny took the simple task of guiding the horses. At his count down they released a roar, that lasted only a few seconds after remembering what could be lurking, and hauled the wagon back onto the road, only for it to reverse back.

"Where the hell is Pearson?" called Dutch as he took to Arthur's side.

His inquire was timed perfectly, because as his words faded a waddling Pearson emerged from the far wagon. "Dutch, the girls would like to know if they can come out for a bit and stretch their legs?"

"This is no time to stretch, Mr. Pearson," he retorted and waved him into place. "Hosea, how's it looking?"

Hosea was hesitant. "Looks like we'll be here for a while. We could try backing it up and push from this side, that's if the horses will work with us."

They tried and failed yet again. By a fourth round, followed by another unsuccessful attempt, the girls had already crept out from their wagons and lingered. Tilly and Mary Beth snickered about Susan until Hosea hushed them. Abigail attempted to sooth Jack whose agitation was growing and evoking his mother's constricting patience. Karen sat in the back of the wagon, with only her legs peeking out and scissoring. Even Grimshaw's misfortune and the others remarks couldn't lift her lips. Strauss nagged. Uncle slept. Molly worried. And Swanson vanished.

No one took heed of the reverend's absences until the stagecoach broke through the mire and even then the men were too occupied in celebration. As Susan emerged in new attire, with mud still weighing strains of her hair down, her eyes took one sweep over the area. She counted the members she fleetly saw under her breath and then re - counted after finding herself one short. The delay had attracted Arthur, Dutch and Hosea closer. Still she yelled the question.

"Where is Swanson?"

Arthur glanced around to see nothing but barren gray staggering on. Swanson's name echoed by John's and Dutch's call with no reply. Worry and a selfish dread cast over them to consider staying there any longer.

"Karen, you see Swanson by chance?" rasped Arthur as he flew around the wagons and saw Karen in the corner of his eye.

She shook her head before the bottle met her lips. "Why does it matter? We're all going to die from this plague anyways."

"She's right, cowpoke."

Morgan's body clenched at Micah's rasp chortles. He had handled idiots and maniacs, something Micah was both of, but something about that man made me him fume. Just the mere thought of him turned his hand into a fist.

"I say we keep going and let the addict die. He's already so far gone," Bell said, with out of place pride. "Unless we want to become old Sean."

Karen's expression twisted.

"Why don't you go ahead to the fort, Micah?" recommended Arthur. He would use any excuse he could to be rid of him. "We'll catch up."

"Yeah….maybe I will," he said with a wave. He glanced to Karen. "And maybe you'll sober up the next time I see you."

As he wandered off, Charles took his place. He had found tracks leading to the east, that extended into the forest. If they went quick they could return to the wagon and reach the fort before nighttime. It was a journey they would make on foot to avoid any unwanted attention. Arthur agreed with doubt.

Charles was not much of an extrovert man, even prior to the outbreak and if there anything Arthur hated more than infected and Micah was the throbbing fear that silence accompanied. To his surprise and some fortunate, Charles broke through the quite halfway through the woods.

"It's awful seeing Karen like this," he murmured

Arthur shook his head, though Smith was ahead and didn't notice. "Awful seeing all of us like this. Swanson's gotten worse. Karen's hopeless. Dutch is uncertain, even Hosea. And Micah….damn Micah."

"While I hate to, I kind of agree with him," admitted Charles with a caged tone.

"How so?"

"Swanson's causing more problems than solutions. He use to hide away when he used. Now, he doesn't care. He just does it in front of everyone. Dutch, the women, even Jack."

"I suppose they've seen worsen by now."

"And what about not telling the others about what happened in Valentine? The farmer, his wife, and their daughter and what they told us?"

Arthur mentally winced at the memory. Those poor fools were either killing or eating each other. "We don't know if they were right."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Charles was now the one shaking his head. "We saw the graves, Arthur. Crazy or not, they were right as much as we don't want to believe it."

He wouldn't admit it, but he was right. When in route back from Valentine with supplies, Dutch advised against telling the gang what had happened. He believed if they thought this was just an illness, there would be a cure. Yet there was no cure for the explainable. No cure, no answers and therefore no hope.

"Once we reach the fort and settle in, I'm coming back out here, Charles." Arthur's head bowed before he could catch his companion's stare. He hadn't told Dutch or Hosea, for the same reason he regretted telling Charles. "You heard what the girl said about Dover Hill and a professor. And the snake oil man. They might have answers."

"Dutch won't let you," he advised.

"I know."

Charles' mouth gaped for words that never came. Instead a yell, a familiar cry that Arthur couldn't match a face to, ripped through the forests. Following it's forlorn trail, Swanson lolled on the ground with infected succumbing him. The sight of him became lost as they grew closer. His screamed loudened as his hands broke through the crowd.

"Hey!" shouted Arthur in a successful attempt to gain their attention.

Their skin tinted green, their bodies transparent and stained with blood and their eyes hungry on him. Him and Charles exchanged a brief set of nods before they acquired their weapons, destroying the rushing infected. As soon as he heard the final growl, Arthur collapsed to Swanson's side expecting to find another corpse.

Swanson still mustered some life through rutted breaths. He clutched Arthur's arm and drew him closer, spitting drops of blood upon his face through attempted words. The morphine was sapping away from him and the pain was settling.

"I was a….fool, Mr….Mr. Morgan," he coughed.

Arthur brought his head to his chest. "No, now come on Reverend….Come on, you don't get to leave. Come on, you still got time!"

"I….I think this is the last time…." His broken words continued as the color drained from his body. Tears slipped from his eyes. "...this is the last time I'll make a fuh - fool out of myself. Don't let me….be….become one of them, Mr. Morgan. Please don't let….me become….become one."

Morgan tried to inhale a breath, but found himself only panting as he tried to register what was happening. He held him close, watching his eyes be swallowed by black, his trembling fade and his once rapid breath flatten. He was a sick man, both in life and now in death. Perhaps that why Arthur pitied him enough to grant him his final wish.

* * *

**Oh god, I should have let Pearson die instead! What am I thinking! I was recently at the Shady Bell camp and you guys know how there's those little baby gators by the creek that Pearson and Dutch fish at? Well here I am as Arthur chasing the little things and then I see a red dot emerge on my map and start thinking...oh shit...and of course this alligator begun to munch on me while Pearson watches! Overstuffed jackass. So anyways guys, I'm back! Recently I lost internet connection so I couldn't post. I'm now at the library (which if you guys saw my town's library you would understand the sacrifice I'm making!) and boy am I scared. But I love you pickles so I sucked it up and hoped to not be robbed or stabbed. Libraries can be dangerous I tell ya.**

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews, the new followers and favorites and the previous ones as well. You guys are the cat's pajamas...that sounds adorable. Anywho, review, follow, favorite, read, do whatever tickles your fine pickle. Only do drugs when pressured!**


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur dismounted upon discovering the gorge's pass. Below him streams of low water extended like veins through the hills. Each step was intimidating. The path was narrowed and moisture building in the air left the road slick. Ridged walls were his only support. He wasn't quick to the growing screams from below. Whether alive or dead, he didn't know and neither put a fleet in his steps. Farther down the meandering path was a flipped stagecoach, coated in black with cracked gold lining and fading words. Glass of shattered bottles gleamed in rays of sun striking through the clouds

There on the fallen wagon stood a man; short, sullied by extra weight in his stomach that stretched his taupe tunic and strains of brown and gray hair peeked from under the rim of his hat. He attracted an infected, which forced him higher up and equipped with an Irish blackthorn walking stick to defend himself. It was not for assistant until now, but a statement of wealth. He was a businessman, his attire revealed, and a swindler, the one Arthur seeked.

"Uh, sir, sir! A little help if you could!" he called, with a voice that sounded as he was speaking through a clogged nose.

Arthur strode forward.

He didn't acquire his gun as quick as the businessman wanted. He spoke to him."You the snake oil man by chance?"

"Wuh - what?" he groused and swung his cane into the open mouth of the infected. "No, well, yes I am!"

"Benedict Allbright?" suggested Arthur, after wondering if that was the correct name Dutch mentioned.

The businessman's stare was fleet on him before returning to the infected below. "No, will you just help me!"

"Who are you?" pressed Arthur.

"Allbright's partner, not anymore. Please, will you just -"

The cattlemen revolver secure in Arthur's hand smoked, as a bullet emerged. The businessman drew in a breath, adjusted his coat and calmed his trembles all while staring at the dead infected. Then his arms roused as he saw Arthur in the corner of his eyes, steadily approaching with his pistol now on him.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked. "Where's Benedict Allbright?"

"He died. We were partnering, he being a man of ideas and I, a man of science, we believed we could make the master cure of all that ails the simple man." He shuffled off the wagon's side.

The revolver lowered.

"What happened to him?" Arthur inquired.

"Consumed, my dear boy, consumed by the undead. He was always a feeble minded man. Better for me," he spluttered. He collected surviving bottles, one that Arthur picked up before he could.

Arthur's finger dipped into the bottle, wetting it with a brown liquid. He gave it a quick taste, allowing a bitter flavor burst in his mouth. His coughs echoed.

"Shit," he murmured.

"Not shit," corrected the businessman. "Miracles. Promises. Vigor. A life spared of pain and misery."

"Poison?"

"Not so, my dear boy, not so. Mr. Allbright and I, morseo I, were creating a miracle tonic. His formula was all inaccurate, but with me, it evolved. We were ready to execute our newfound business in Saint Denis."

"But tried Valentine first and caused all this?"

"That is where you are mistaken! Allbright was a fraud indeed, like the masses claim, but me, I am an intellect. A man of science!"

"So, as a man of science, what's going on?"

The businessman studied Arthur before returning to claiming his spared items. "Uh, well that I don't know, but I assure you I didn't cause this. It could have been Mr. Allbright with how sloppy he was with in his tonics before my critiquing, who can say? He certainly can't say now."

His movements halted, removed his hat and did a hasty curtsy. "Nigel West Dickens."

Arthur took another taste. "Arthur Morgan."

"Yes, well, Mr. Morgan, if it's answer you want…." Nigel's arms welcomed the box into them, "I cannot provide them for you."

"Come on, Mr. Dickens, don't make me regret wasting a bullet for you," he countered.

Nigel's body shifted. His laughter was caged by apprehension, something Arthur noticed. "I might have something….for you."

"Better say now before I get impatient," warned Arthur.

Nigel's head drew closer to him and his voice lowered. "I heard of a little auction for the affluent and well heeled member of the Saint Denis society, hosted by the eerie Mayor Lemieux Ancient items, robbed from the Indians and exported from Mexico, even some things from overseas. I've seen my fair share being a man of business."

He flashed a self - satisfied grin, before Arthur redirected him.

"Yes, well, it seems there are some rumors going around, some of the items weren't meant for touching, no less auctioning. Cursed, you might say," Nigel explained.

Arthur, half doubting and half curious, came closer. "That's….uh an interesting theory. I've heard religions to blame, Mexicans, prostitutes, now cursed items."

"A bit stretched, indeed," agreed Nigel. "Yet a man of your built and talents, could perhaps visit Saint Denis yourself and interrogate Lemieux, should he survive. Just an idea."

"Do I look like a fool to you?"

As Arthur strode close, Nigel withdrew.

He shook his head and gaped his mouth only to find the dry and the words gone. "I…."

"Go on, get out of here." Arthur gestured him off with a forlorn goodbye. "Try not to get yourself killed….or eaten."

The men parted ways, with nothing more than a wave from Nigel as he balanced the box with his other hand. He shuffled away with his bottles of miracles clashing against each other, creating a jingling noise that trailed after Arthur. Nigel's words were almost lost under the sound.

"Land of hillbillies and narrow minded...I won't go farther than here."

* * *

It was a short - term relief as Arthur saw the wavering lights in the distance. The sun was descending, casting the world into shadow, and he had no desire sleeping beneath in pitch black with undead lurking. Infected. He didn't know what to label them. Yet as reached the wall of Fort Wallace, where a rope dangled from the side, and he hoisted himself up, he hesitated. Since their arrival, the walls had grown closer each passing days. Patience were withering. Time slowed. The fort was not an establishment meant for sixteen free - ranged people, no less sixteen famish, vexed people with conflicting personalities. They had survived before with open land and opportunity, now they were confined like prisoners.

To Arthur, it was depressing and even more influencing. Though Dutch and Hosea opposed him leaving, it was the second time he had left in search of answers. And the second time he scaled the wall to find Dutch awaiting his return with a high level grin.

"Arthur," he welcomed and offered his hand. "Did you find the answer to all our problems?"

Arthur sighed. "Can't say I have. Every lead we got seems to be a dead end or leads to somewhere else. Dover Hill scientist was creating robots to fight these things. Or fight humans. He died. Allbright, he's dead. His business partner told me something about Saint Denis."

"Saint Denis?" repeated Dutch, in an escalating tone. "And what is in Saint Denis, other than the undead?"

Arthur strode through the overlook, and peeked down after greeting Hosea who rested at the table. Pearson was attempting to savage rotten carrots. Susan's stare was set on the evolving fire inside the pit. The women assembled together, but were unspoken and the men lolled against crates and barrels. Silence was better than quarreling, which was also a common occurrence nowadays.

"Arthur, how did it go?" inquired Charles. He produced a net full of gleaming brown scales and beady black eyes. "There's no use in hunting, but at least it hasn't affected the fish."

"Well that's good at least." Arthur drew the bag closer. "Yeah, Pearson will have a nice time cooking these up."

"What did you find?" asked Charles.

Dutch inched forth. "Yes, what did you find?"

Arthur took in a long breath prior to starting, along with a pause. The idea was absurd and then again their reality had become just that anything was possible.

"Ah well, Allbright's partner said something about an auction. Seems the mayor of Saint Denis host a party of some sort with stolen stuff from Mexico and the Indians….." he peered towards Charles shaking his head. "Stuff that shouldn't have been touched."

"And?" Dutch pressed.

"And, it might be the reason for all of this," he continued after a delay.

Dutch's chortle was high and angered Morgan. "I never thought you would be one for superstitions, son."

"No, but I also never thought that the dead would be walking again, trying to eat us and we would be forced to live in a fort! But here we are!"

"Yes, here we are," agreed Hosea. He roused from his chair while drifting closer. "Saint Denis you say?"

Arthur nodded.

"That seems like it would work well with your plan, Dutch," he said and all eyes drew to their leader.

"What plan?" inquired Charles before Arthur could.

"Well you know Dutch. He has a plan I disapprove of and still is trying to make it work," Hosea murmured. "Tell them."

Save Charles and Arthur's pondering expressions on him, Dutch wasn't quick with his words. He took a paused moment, like Arthur had previously and collected himself.

"You boys know, Siska Penitentiary?" he started. "It's big, well structured and could fit all of us. The only problem I have, other than Hosea, is how to get there."

Arthur's mind drew back to the last map he had seen. It would be a day's journey for a single person, possibly a day and a half to the outside of Saint Denis. Adding wagons, along with the weight of supplies and other people, would stretch it to three. Then there was the trouble of the water, that boarded Lemoyne from Siska . It was beneficial for sheltering there - undead weren't known for swimming - but a disadvantage getting there.

"Uh, I don't know, Dutch," countered Arthur. "How we suppose to get a boat that's going to fit all of us?"

Dutch steadily shook his head. He never admitted he didn't have a genuine plan, because that might create doubt. He believed doubt divided. And doubt was an unnecessary evil in a time of crisis.

As they stood in an unsettled silence, some exchanged fleet stares and waited for something they couldn't determine. Bill, who decided to take the role of patrol guard, joined them while not sharing the quiet. The wood cried beneath his weight as he rushed towards them in speech. His rifle waved in his clutch.

"Uh, Dutch, we got a problem," he announced, with a finger aimed to the front of the fort.

"That we do, son," agreed Dutch.

"No, a big problem." He lead them forth, towards the south end of the overlook.

They were drawn by a sudden voice, reflecting through the forest.

"This is the United States Army! You are trespassing on a government establishment. We will shoot if you do not obey."

Arthur reached the edge first and the first to see an army, dressed in beige uniforms and equipped with rifles, extending across the entrance. Their leader was mounted on a black steed, in a navy blue attire and gold trim. Medals were pinned at his breast. Behind him a wagon, carrying the weight of a gatling gun.

* * *

**I have finally returned after...a whole month. Oh crap! In my defense, my cat had just had surgery, season 2 of Cobra Kai came out, so did Avengers Endgame, I quit my job, I've been incredibly busy! But I'm back with another mediocre chapter. Thank you everyone for the reviews, the follows, the favorites and just the reads in general! You guys keep me going. Anyways, please follow, favorite or review if you want to! And remember, when in danger or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout! Okay see you guys soon! Thank you for everything! **


	7. Chapter 7

"Dutch, we can't do this," Arthur advised. "We barely have any ammo. And now you want us to go against a whole army?"

Dutch kept an eerie composure. "Then where do we go?"

"I don't know…." he admitted in a sigh.

"Valentine. It might still be open and will give us a few days -" Hosea begun, only for Dutch to break through his suggestion.

"Is it _open_?" he inquired with a stare between Hosea and Arthur.

Again, Arthur shrugged and replied with a less tolerant sigh, "I don't know!"

Below them Captain Allerton directed his men into newfound positions, sparing as much time as he could. After the suicide of his fiance in their apartment, above a merchant in the heart of Wisconsin, and the sudden black and red rumor about intimacy with his sister days before, he never invested a minute in proving innocent. He enlisted in the army, assigned down in the godless southerland lands, his mother always claimed too sinful for redemption, and yet his duties was a peacemaker to the lingering tribes. So long as they accepted the desolation of their land, humiliation of their origins and surrendered their homes, it was just that. Peace. And to him, that was boredom. While there was the occasional freedom fighter or rabble rouser - those Allerton was quick to remind of their place - he felt deceived. He had heard his father tell to many stories of his days as a high - rank officer during the Mexican - American War, of the blood shed, the gore, the screaming and his father cornering stupid men who refused to surrender.

Now Alerton felt fulfilled. His own stupid men were cornered. He granted them a moment to quarrel among each other and possibly conceive a quick plan, for his own morbid delight.

"We're not going to spend a whole day on you. By orders of the United State government we are here to cease and desist any violations and terminate any trespassers." His voice tinkled, aggravating Dutch farther into impulsion.

He staggered closer to the edge before Hosea and Arthur could restrain him. While the rest of the gang flocked towards the noise, they stood with attention only on the Gatling gun.

"There is no government left, son. You're free," Dutch surmised. "Now let my boys go along with yours."

"You are on government property!" Allerton retorted. "We will shoot if you do not cooperate."

"There are women -" Hosea begun, only to be interrupted yet again.

"Surrender your weapons now…." The captain's words disappeared underneath the sound of a single shot. His eyes peaked from Dutch, onto the erupting pain in his stomach, as if rats had burrowed into his stomach and begun to feaster on his insides. When they stopped gnawing, they turned into flames slowly channeling through his body. Blood saturated his coat. While his mind processed the reality of his pending death and the quick shock from it, he could still hear the call.

"Fire."

He tumbled from his saddle, missing a wave of bullets coursing towards the fort.

"Micah….." Arthur sneered and his stare floated towards the arm man, near the far end of the overlook. His gaily smile spoke his culpability. "What have you done?"

Beneath them wood crackled. Splinters from it sprinkled across the ground, where Susan, Pearson and Uncle cowered. They were the only ones Arthur could see below as he balanced his attention between them and loading his bolt action shotgun . He disarmed one soldier aiming at Dutch and disposed of four advancing closer in a quick snap.

"Shouldn't they be fighting the undead instead of the living!" he called across his companions.

"I think it's too late to ask them that," Hosea retorted before pulling the trigger to hit the gut of an incoming soldier.

"Dutch, what do we do?" Lenny called.

"Keep firing son! Arthur, John make sure the women are in the cabin! Keep your head down!" Dutch directed.

Arthur took lead with John trailing behind. Their bodies were tossed as they tumbled down the steps. Another round of shots were being fired from the Gatling gun, breaking the fort's structure farther. The south outlook above the front entrance stood on it's last column, crumbling at the far right. A fallen piece of lumber had claimed Pearson's legs. Susan attempted to heave it off with what little strength she had between screeching orders.

"Susan," Arthur interjected and shooed her off. "Get the women in the cabin!"

"Will you get this off of me!" exasperated Pearson. "Hurry up, Mr. Morgan!"

Arthur took the right side, while John took the left and on his count of three they lifted the beam. Still Pearson's position saw no avail in their action. Another wave of shots were fired. The gate was down. Like a vandalized bee hive, the army broke through in fury. Instead of skill they fought with anger and impulsion.

"Get down!" Arthur directed and shoved John to the side.

Pearson continued to screech.

"Calm down, Pearson!" And Arthur clambered to his feet.

Strauss wobbled by, clutching his shoulder where blood oozed from. "Mr. Morgan, Mr. Morgan."

He hauled him forward, with one hand and pulled the triggered of his pistol with the other. "You'll be fine. Just get to the cabin! Uncle, come and help us get this off Pearson."

Again they heaved, Pearson cried and yet now Arthur moved quick enough to pull him out from beneath. Upon his removal, the exposure of his legs cause a choke in Uncle. Though blood saturated his torn pants, the wounds were cleared. His legs were mangled and swollen. He could move them, but just like they were prior to the accident, he didn't put in the effort. Pearson's cries and implorement only persisted until Arthur forced Uncle and John to get him up and into safety. Selfishly, Arthur saw it as his own avail.

"Arthur, I gotta find Abigail," John remarked before adding Pearson's weight to his shoulders.

"She's probably safe with Susan and the others!" he snapped, absently. "Go on and get Pearson out of here!"

John followed his direction just like Susan and Strauss, with a dreary obedience.

A familiar scream broke through the air, approaching from the entrance. The last support lifting the outlook up had crumbled due to another round of rushing bullets. Wood crackled at the encounter, before the beams split apart and descended upon entering soldiers. The moment was fleet, still Arthur saw Dutch, Bill, Javier and Lenny tumble to the ground, producing a soft thud. The ruins followed. He called for them as his picked his way towards. Bill moaned but refused help. Arthur ignored Micah. Javier sprung to his feet. Lenny peeked his head out while tending to his wounds. Dutch and Hosea though were unseen.

Arthur clambered over the desolation, kicking at collapsed logs small enough to fling and his calls for them turned into pleas the longer they went on. "Dutch! Hosea! Hosea!"

More soldiers were coming forth, with a sudden shift in attention. Their guns were aimed to the east, shooting at something beyond Arthur's sight. His confusion made him forget Dutch and Hosea in that moment. He stood there, only staring, waiting for the answers to his curiosity. Javier, fighting to his far left side, stumbled over his accent.

"Undead!"

"Goddamn it," Arthur whispered as they fell into view.

The scurvy figures with skin peeling from their discolored bodies pounced towards the men. Young boys, just a year or so out of short pants, forced by their own government into seclusion and certain death were now being feasted on people they once swore to protect. He saw the flashing lights from the Gatling gun, killing both the undead and the men. For the time he let himself consider the morbidity of it, Arthur's stomach churned. The shout of his name, dim in his ears, retrieved him.

"Dutch," he breathed and aided the man upwards.

Arthur murmured in agony. Blood and ash freckled his face.

"You okay?" Lenny inquired, before being waved off.

"Just keep shooting," he assured. "Arthur, where's Hosea?"

"I don't know, but we'll find him."

"And the women? Jack?" The others?

"Pearson's leg ain't looking too good and Strauss got a bullet in the shoulder, but they're in the cabin with the rest. Going to be fine."

"Good."

"No, not good yet. All this shooting has brought the undead."

"That might not be the worst thing."

"Well sure that saves us from getting shot at, but not from being eaten. We need to get out of here, Dutch."

Dutch whimpered upon readjusting himself. "We need to find Hosea first."

Too occupied by their conversation, the undead who went amiss by soldiers drew closer. The fallen beams slowed them, but didn't stop them. The only thing that did was bullets coming from behind both men, which stole their attention and shifted their stares to the north wall. Sadie stood with a rifle firm in grasp.

"Mrs. Adler," Dutch said with a low chortle, while the sight left Arthur staggered. "Shouldn't you be with the others?"

"Someone needed to remind you two this isn't a social hour," she retorted. "Seems you forgot we got a whole army trying to kill us along with those things."

"Well, thank you for that," moaned Dutch with Arthur aiding him to his feet. "Now, I recommend you get back to the cabin with the rest."

"Cabin? You boys ain't going to survive another hour out here," she chided.

Arthur looked at her with a restrained smile. He knew her simply as the grieving widow Dutch accepted into the gang out of pity, never with the intent of using her to their benefit or expecting her to cling to them as long as did. Her character had shifted. She was passionate and still managed to be reasonable.

He liked her and what mattered in that moment, he agreed with her. "She's right, Dutch. We can't stay here. This fort's going to be overrun by undead and we'll be one of them."

"What about Hosea?" he reminded.

"We'll come back," assured Arthur. "But right now, we gotta get out of here. We mount the horses and ride away."

"To where?"

"Valentine. It's all we got."

* * *

**I have finally returned my readers, you beautiful bastards! I was struggling with writer's block and well that slapped harder than my mom when she saw me do anything at all. I had a dark childhood...But I have finally returned after a few weeks of drinking, re writing, hating myself, drinking some more, knitting my cats matching sweaters, and now... I'm not too impressed with this chapter! I will probably come back to revise this one in the future when I have sometime, that or burn my whole computer and never write again! And yes, to one of my reviewers, my dumbass totally forgot to mention Sadie in the last few chapters. My intention is to have her build throughout this similar to the real story, so she does exist. Anyways my sweet readers, please follow, favorite, review, do drugs, whatever tickles your pickle! I love you guys. Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8

Summer ended, if it had even existed that year.

Valentine stood lonely and silent surrounded by the growing chaos. The few survivors of the gang kept it that way during their four day stay. There were no words, no stories, no songs, only an unspoken grief they all shared but stowed away.

Arthur occupied one of the rooms of the hotel, though fear didn't allow him many hours of sleep. Certainly not that morning with Micah patrolling the east entrance and John the west. After a few splashes of cool water and the relief from a cigarette, he shuffled across the blood painted road. The buzzing of flies, festering on the near corpse pile, echoed in his ears. While he could escape the sound in the saloon, the retch provoking aroma still lurked.

Dutch sat center of the room, with hands clutching a book and legs stretched across the table. The chair he occupied reclined. The careless behavior aggravated Arthur as much as it confused him. He even wished to share that ease no consumption of alcohol or cigarette could create.

"You know, son, after all that's happened to us, I used to think we could survive anything." Dutch shut the book and rest it in front of him. His eyes floated over the room but never to Arthur. "But I don't think man is supposed to survive this."

He drew closer, engaged by his leader's shift in demeanor.

Dutch never admitted defeat. That was a cut to his untouched ego.

"You giving up, Dutch?" inquired Arthur.

The man shrugged. "All I've ever done is run, Arthur. Fight for what's right. But this is nature, son, this is nature and you can't fight nature."

"I don't know. We….we gotta try. For the others. For the women. For Jack." Arthur strolled behind the bar, searching for a drink, a heavy drink, but finding nothing he accepted two bottles of cheap beer. One he passed to Dutch. "There's gotta be something that's causing this. Now, that sellar I met up at the gorge, he mentioned Saint Denis. Some sort of cursed auction."

"We have already chased so many rumors, now you're chasing superstitions?"

"All I'm saying is there's no harm in checking it out."

"Then by all means, go. Find the cure for us."

"You feeling alright, Dutch?"

Dutch paused. To think of an answer or fear of saying it, Arthur didn't know.

"I miss Hosea."

Arthur steadily nodded. "And Lenny. Karen. Javier. Poor Jack doesn't know what happened to his mother and John, well who knows how he's taking it. Hell, I even miss Strauss and Uncle. I'm sure you also miss Molly."

Dutch's head sprung up at the name. There was no effort in concealing his lack of awareness.

"That's what I came here to talk about actually. We left Fort Wallace in a hurry," begun Arthur, steady and slow. He awaited an interrupt that never came. "Send Charles and I, or even John there, see if we can find anybody."

"They won't be there," he countered with a shake of the head.

"Maybe not but something. Supplies even -"

"We have to stick to the plan."

"And what plan is that?"

Appearing miffed he asked, Dutch reposed himself and swallowed a mouthful of stale beer. "Siska. The penitentiary."

Arthur recoiled with a nod. He was weary of the idea. He was weary of all of it. To make the weight of that aggravation and tiredness worse Micah walked his way as he left the saloon. It was always Micah creating uninvited conversations.

"You and Dutch figuring out how to get us out of here?" he began. "Gotta find some way out of this mess you two and the old man put us in."

Arthur's eyes widened. "The hell you talking about? We weren't the one shooting at the army captain. And we sure as shit weren't the ones running as soon as they fired back and the undead came."

"Whatever you say, Morgan, whatever you say," he retorted as he resumed his way towards the saloon.

"Even Jack and the women weren't running as fast as you!" jeered Arthur.

Watching Micah leave was more relief than heartbreak.

Tilly and Mary Beth watched from the general store porch as they attended to their chores with a dreary obedience. Susan had rummaged enough tasks to avoid sparing them. They were not resistant as usual. They weren't gossiping or giggling either. There was the occasional mention of Karen, and a dismay followed. Arthur didn't disrupt with anything more than a hasty greeting.

The exchange was quiet. It was always quiet which worked in the fear's favor.

"Arthur." John nodded as he proceeded out of the gun store.

"John," he murmured. "How've you been?"

"Impatiently waiting for this to be done," he said. "We shouldn't be in the open like this with those things around."

It was not common for the two men to agree and when they did, Arthur didn't often admit so. But he could now. "Yeah, I know. Dutch's got a plan though."

John hesitated before sighing. "He always does."

"And how's Jack?"

His arms roused only to fall back down. "Grimshaw's got him."

"But with Abigail missing….Kid's been through a lot. Seen a lot. He's probably confused more than the rest of us."

John could only nod.

"That's why I was thinking, leaving Fort Wallace like we did," begun Arthur and again, just like with Dutch, he readied himself for an interjection that wouldn't come, "it might not hurt to go back. It's been a few days. Maybe we could find some things we left behind?"

While he appeared content with his weight against the nearest pole, John was steadily fuming. "There's ain't nothing left there but whatever hell those things are. Just...just let it go."

"What about Abigail?" Arthur pressed.

John kept silent.

"Boy needs a mother, because he as hell doesn't have a father."

He shifted onto his feet, inching closer to Arthur before restraining himself. "If you wanna go back and get yourself eaten then be my guest. Leave me out of it though!"

He made a hasty escape, making a passing Sadie stumble out of balance. Arthur stepped to aid her before she shooed him off.

It was only her company he welcomed in that time. It was the only real company he had. While the rest were succumbing to misery, Sadie's mood never faltered. It was a strange irony to Arthur. Since her admission into the gang he had only seen her in passing, collecting few details of her from overheard conversations, but never knew her enough to overcome the bleak image he had of her. Then the mayhem arrived and an unexpected side of her surfaced. She possessed more skills than most criminals he had encountered. No doubt more intelligence.

She wasn't miffed by John's behavior, but instead sympathetic.

"He's going through a lot," she observed. "You wouldn't think so but losing Abigail, that was hard on him."

"And the rest of them…." Their memories made Arthur sigh again. "But, uh, I never got to thank you about how you helped us at the fort."

Sadie continued down the walkway and Arthur followed at her side. "I can't help but wonder if my Jake's out there. Wandering. Sometimes I wanna go back to the house and see if he's still there. Just to see him again. But then I think of him looking like a cold hearted animal and I know he ain't never was that. We gotta stop this, Arthur. The dead deserve to rest."

Silence settled in. He was impressed by her being so uncensored and ambitious. She was the passion needed for their survival.

"So what about the fort?" she asked.

He paused for a moment. "Well, Dutch doesn't think it's worth it."

"What about you?" she inquired.

"I don't know anymore."

She paused for a moment. He never expected her to be hesitant.

"You need an extra gun?" offered Sadie.

"No, that's alright I'm sure Charles -"

"If you're going you need more than the two of you."

* * *

_Three Nights Earlier_

Fort Wallace had fallen into a pile of charred and split wood.

Beneath it, Hosea's chest rouse only to fall. But breath never came. A fire had started in his lungs, a pain great enough to distract him from the beam that had impaled his shoulder. The less air he took in the farther his memory drew back. He would admit this wasn't the life he wanted, but it was his life and he had lived it well. The end was waiting for him. He thought of Betsy. It was only a fray – end picture and a now hazy memory that he kept of her, but now she clear image in his head. Every detail she wore was transparent.

The wood above him shuffled. A dim light pierced through and as the weight of the rubble was hoisted off him. Hosea's breath steadily returned. Lenny towered over him as the last beam was removed.

"Come on, Hosea, we got you," he murmured as he lifted Hosea's side while Javier took the other. Uncle came to his feet. Pass the wreckage they carried him to where Molly waited.

Abigail lurked close with attention far from them. Her cupped hands were set against her lips as she wailed out for Jack. As a reply never came Uncle attempted to console her, only to receive a quick rejection.

"Oh thank God you're alive Mr. Matthews!" bleated Strauss who had appeared at his side. He had never seen a man cower like Strauss could. "Should she really be shouting like that with those things so close?"

Hosea's eyes crept across the scene. "Where's Dutch? And Arthur?"

"My guess is Valentine," Lenny said.

"Hosea! Hosea, I can't find Jack." Abigail rushed towards him in speech. "Where's Jack? I need to find him! If anything happened to him, I...I need my son!"

Lenny calmed her. "Easy, Abigail I'm sure Jack's fine. Someone probably took him during the fight. We just need to get there."

"Well Dutch will come back for us," assured Molly with a naïve confidence.

"No he won't!" Karen, who even in the mayhem still possessed a bottle of whiskey in hand, appeared from the southern end of the forest. She had yet to sober up from what seemed to be a permanent state of intoxication. "Just…..accept it, they left us!"

"What's your problem?" Molly's tongue tumbled over her heavy accent. She sprung to her feet, prepared for an unneeded brawl that Javier was quick to divide.

Karen continued to drawl with her arms swaying side to side. "We ain't got no horses! No guns! We're…we're going to die out here. And nobody is coming for us! They left us!"

"What do you think, Hosea?" inquired Lenny.

Overlooking the survivors, Hosea strived to find a glimpse of hope that was never found. He was the rational one. The intellect. Dutch had more fumbles behind him while Hosea couldn't remember a failure on his part. Now he didn't want to be.

"Valentine," he started with a weight in his words. "That's are only options."

Uncle, who loomed on the outskirts of the chaos, had inched forward in a shuffle. Droplets of sweat sprinkled over his forehead. His already pale skin was fading to white. But his voice was simple and clear as spoke to Molly and Karen. "You ladies feeling sick as well?"

* * *

**Many many moons later I have finally returned! So have you guys ever experienced writer's block? Or when you write a sentence, you stare at it for a few minutes and then you start to understand why you're mom said you were going to fail in life so you delete the whole chapter and excessively adopt cats? Overly specific. Yeah that's been me these past few months. But I have finally returned with a chapter that has been rewritten ten times! Yah! Progress. Anyways guys, thank you all for the patience and dedication you give this story! I appreciate all of you! Anyways, follow, favorite, review, whatever you do just make sure you have a great Halloween! May it be more frightening than the Cats trailer!**


	9. Chapter 9

Sadie was an unexpected pleasure in Arthur's plight.

She, until then was a feeble widow in his eyes, one he assumed would depart from the gang after finding the nearest town. She never did and in that moment he was regretful for the few times he wished she had. Trudging down the familiar route to Cumberland Forest, talk was trite at first, but quickly eased as the ride continued. Charles was his common quite self, while Sadie recalled her previous life as a conformed housewife and the more she spoke, the less convinced Arthur was meant for that role. She was progressive woman. Eager too. She was much more gaily, riding unladylike on a horse with a rifle attached to her side, even during an apocalypse than she ever was assisting Pearson with dinner.

"Does Dutch seem alright to you two?" she finally asked.

They were in the heart of the forest now, where silence was common and the air thick with the stench of musk and rot. Roots peeked out from the ground like a network of narrow, black streams, leaving each movement from the horses more gradual than the last. The trees sprawling limbs stretched out, entwining with each other, and blotted out the sun. Yet, to their little fortune, not an undead lurked.

"No," murmured Arthur. He knew he wasn't. None of them were, then or now. "But, with all we've been through, I don't expect any of us to be the same."

"I mean, that man who put that blanket over my shoulders after finding me that night...I don't see them as the same." She spoke as if it was year ago, not months. "You all see him as some powerful leader, but the fact he won't even come for half of you, I don't know if that's the leader you want in this."

Regret came from agreement

"And wasn't he eager to get Shaun from Blackwater months back?" she pressed.

Arthur limply shrugged. "Well, yeah, but that was different."

"You know it's not," she retorted.

"She's right, Arthur," agreed Charles. "He says we're family. We may not know much about it, but we at least know that means sticking together."

He drew in a shallow breath, leading him into a tirade of coughing. The odor was worsening.

"No. I know. Hosea...he's….he's always kept Dutch on the right path. Usually." Arthur fell silent at the sound of croaking lurking near. In unison, him and the others provided their horses with a fleet kick, bringing them to a gallop. "I just worry if we don't find Hosea, we're not going to find our old Dutch either."

"We'll fine them. We have to," reassured Sadie.

Dreary silence returned.

Arthur once indulged in quiet rides. Now, he detested them.

The night sky was advancing overhead. Time had ran on with riding and conversation they had failed to notice how close they had grew to the outskirts of Fort Wallace. He advised Sadie to wait on her horse while he and Charles dismounted. He was coming to realize she was not one for listening.

A swish against distance leaves was growing close.

Sadie was hasty with acquiring her rifle, while Arthur lite his lantern.

"You hear that?" she inquired.

"Yeah. Get ready, but don't –"

The figure, now an outline in the shadows, reached out towards them. Though Sadie stared, she never truly saw who it was. What it was. She was strickened by uncertainty that had dragged her mind into a blur. As she twitched and fidgeted, her finger fastened onto the trigger. From the panic a shot was fired. Even in her trembles, Sadie's aim managed accurate. The figure tumbled out of sight, wailing, and moaning to the sudden course of pain.

The sound of its murmured cursing was a welcoming, familiar memory to Arthur.

"Hosea!" he called.

Hosea's dubious voice ripped through the dark.

Lifting the lantern higher, Hosea fell into sight. He was pallid, dirt and blood freckling his face and his eyes hallow. Between his fingers, a crimson liquid were flowing out, coursing down his arms and raining onto his shoes.

"Hosea! Hosea, goddamn!" breathed Arthur. "You didn't get bit, did you?"

"Some part of me wishes I had been," admitted Hosea with a heavy sigh.

Arthur summoned Charles, who had drift off but responded instantly to the call. With the strength of both assisting his side, Hosea was quickly hoisted to his feet. A quenched mouth and blood oozing from his shoulder left him leaning on Arthur.

"There's a house up ahead," directed Charles. "Seems okay."

"Okay, grab the horses. I got him. Sadie -"

"Hosea, I'm so sorry," she consoled.

Hosea was more content by the idea of being found than he was by minor wound. "Don't apologize, dear. I take another bullet if it meant getting out of here."

Six Point Cabin stood in isolation, just above a meandering hill. There were rumors O'Driscolls use to lodge there, making Arthur ponder if they were still wandering the Heartlands - surviving just like him and the rest were – or their existence had died just like everything else.

The building scent of rotting, saturated wood, along with decomposition rushed over them as they hauled open the doors to the cellar. Below them a sea of black swirled in their eyes. Arthur volunteered to go first, leaving Charles to assist Hosea.

Steadily he conquered each step with a creak. Reaching the floor, the smell had yet adjusted in his nose. His eyes had yet to fix to the darkness. Those distractions left his reflect slow. Had the O'Driscolls not been morbid enough to bind their victims - ones they had abandoned during the outbreak – certainly, one would have pounced upon Arthur in their undead state, leading him to his end.

To Arthur relief, it was only undeads wrestling in their ropes. One dangled from the ceiling, bound by his legs. Its arms, now bare bone beneath melting flesh, reached out towards him with a relentless energy. The other was shackled to the side of the shed, snarling, and spewing discolored liquid from its chapped lips. Arthur was generous, if not inclined, to acquire his revolver and provide an end to their misery.

At Arthur's assurance, Charles emerged from the stairwell with Hosea at his side. Sadie hoovered close.

"What happened to Dutch? And the others?" asked Hosea, as they aided him onto the near table.

Arthur was starting to loath the question.

Charles, noting his resistance, murmured, "He stayed back in Valentine with the other."

A sorrow came over Hosea, one he attempted to conceal.

"But uh, he's fine. They're all fine. It's you and the others we gotta get back there. Especially you," Arthur insisted.

"You know this isn't the first time I've been shot, Arthur," reminded Hosea. "The others, if they're still out there, it's them you need to worry about."

Hosea recalled what had happened those nights ago. Young Lenny had taken lead due to Hosea's injuries. There was pride in his word as he remembered him. When Molly wasn't preening herself, even in potential death her vanity relented, she was bleating about Dutch. Abigail was fretting about Jack, while Strauss fretted about himself. He seemed adamant to avoid the topic of Karen. Javier was his usual low – spoken, docile self. But Uncle, something had shifted. He was ill at the beginning and each mind too occupied by distress had failed to notice the change drawing over him.

"He became one of them…." Breathed Hosea. The memory was still clear. "Most of the women ran. So did Herr Strauss. Javier tried to get them back, but he never came back."

"We'll find them, Hosea," assured Sadie.

"What about the kid?" pressed Arthur.

Hosea fell silent.

* * *

John was never a man to determine what right and what was wrong. He was man of survival and survival included both. That was likely Dutch's teachings and honey words influencing him again. But watching the dim speck Valentine became as they rode away – the ideas of Arthur, Charles and Sadie beyond its outskirts and the rest beyond that - John couldn't restrain his doubt. He missed Abigail, always looming behind him. He selfishly missed the alone time he had because Jack was more likely to cling to his her, than him. He cursed himself to even miss Arthur.

He did, though.

An area of unblemished land was just a mile from the road, caught by Dutch's wandering gaze. That was a perfect spot for rest, he assured and the others, having no energy or strength to question, nodded. It was an insipid camp they created for the night, that could never compare to the previous ones they had. No massive fire to assemble around. No lining of tents. No life. Only a few tarps pinned to near tree trunks and several lanterns posted by each bed.

"Dutch," approached John, once the others had descended into sleep, save him, Dutch and Micah. There he was, the only one of them unperturbed by what had all happened and always hoovering at Dutch's side, like a docile dog bound to its master. Though, it was not Micah taking order. "I think, well I'm not sure what to really think, but couldn't we have at least waited for Arthur and Charles and even that Mrs. Adler."

"I wish to tell you differently, son, but waiting for Arthur would have –" Dutch steadily begun.

"Would have gotten us all killed," finished Micah. "Dutch and I both agree, we gotta keep the safety of the others in mind. How I see it, Arthur, the redskin and the widow were just thinking about themselves when they left."

"You feeling okay, Dutch?" inquired John.

Dutch paused. "I'm fine, son."

Micah shifted to John's side and ushered him towards his tent. John was quick to haul him away.

"I know you gotta miss that fine woman, you had. We all had. I do too, scarface. I do too. I'm not one for women," goaded Micah.

"That I believe," he sneered.

Micah slyly laughed. "Especially not the women we got with us. But Abigail; I liked her. She knew how to handle herself, real well."

"Don't talk to me," retorted John.

Both men trudged away the opposite direction, but John, upon reaching his sight, peered back. Jack's meek snoring succumbed his ability to hear Dutch and Micah's continuing conversation. He wanted to indulge in the talk between them as much as he did not.

Glancing back, Jack had just finished readjusting himself on his cot. The sight of the boy made the sorrow supple farther through him. Arthur was right. He needed a mother, especially in this hell. But all he had was a father.

John removed his coat and placed it over him. Time was slow throughout the night and his fear suffocating and yet, never did he sleep.

* * *

**Yes, I have finally returned (tah, like anyone actually gave a shit!). I'll be honest with you my lovely readers, I was drinking. Also I had writer's block, which you would think the drinking would have cleared that up. I know I found it ironic too! Then all my creativity just died one day (apparently certain meds can do that to you! Crazy). But I sobered up, flushed my pills and created this piece of crap chapter! Yah! So here I am, back on that horse. I hope you guys didn't completely hate this chapter. Review, follow or favorite if you enjoyed! But overall just remember to be safe out there in this crazy world! Don't spit on each other! **


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